The Cost to Fly
by D R A G O N L I L I E S
Summary: But, even wishing so, she hated herself for wanting to hold him down, because as soon as he flew free, he would be gone, never to return. Nevertheless, Matsumoto Rangiku would willingly pay the price, if only to see his fragile wings unfurl to that sky.


Hitsugaya Toushirou was, undoubtedly, a dragon.

Matsumoto Rangiku knew this better than anyone else.

She watched him everyday, the stern and underestimated Captain. He was _quite_ impossible to ignore, with his shocking snow-white hair that stood up and never stayed down, not to mention those brilliant eyes holding an unnamed emotion that never was seen, not supposed to be seen, or ever seen in a child's face.

He was just sort of _there_, an unwavering figure to guide her along the path that had grown so confusing- the path that she thought was supposed to be full of fluttering tendrils of light.

(_But wherever there is light, there must be darkness as well._)

She trusted him. He trusted her.

That was all there was to it.

A dragon is meant to fly, she knew as well, and was certain of this fact. A dragon is meant to soar high, to scrape along the edge of the world, to blast down all boundaries set mentally and physically; to be free. A dragon is supposed to defy all laws. A dragon is supposed to shatter fear, a bringer of courage, of the truth. A dragon symbolizes clarity. A dragon must set himself apart from the rest.

But, knowing this, she could not help herself doubting the definition she had, because if Hitsugaya Toushirou was a dragon, then what the mythical Guardian was supposed to do was pretty much all incorrect and just theory.

For instance, Hitsugaya Toushirou could not fly.

She watched him everyday, silent in her observations. She watched him nearly buckle over under all the expectations, she watched him shoulder everything, shifting the weight over his back, still standing straight and tall under the burdens that nearly crushed him when he thought no one was looking.

And she saw.

She saw him fight back with all he could, but little signs still showed up in his smooth movements, speaking of weariness and of tiredness. Of wanting to soar away into those heavens, but being unable to. She understood that the laws of Seireitei chained him down, pegged him to the ground when that sky was so welcoming, so thoughtless, so infallible, so _perfect_.

(_She wondered why he didn't just break the chains and leave this accursed world, leave this world when all it served to do for him was give him more pain, more guilt, more heartbreak._)

Hitsugaya Toushirou could not blast down all limitations.

He was a calculating warrior in an innocent child's body. Thus, he had the limitations set thereof, the captains and others around him a taunting reminder of his youth. He could not defeat Aizen back when Kurosaki Ichigo had been a ryoka, an invader whose strength was well beyond doubled now. He could not increase his power as quickly as he expected of himself, either. His frustration with himself was ever so apparent, hands scraped raw from holding his zanpakutou for too long during training, sandals worn out from sudden stops in combat practice. Every single week, when she carried out the trash, she could not help but notice how many blood-caked bandages lay in the bin, how many worn out sandals there were, how many new sets of shihakushous that he wore out in the span of one week, just lying torn and ripped.

Moreover, Hitsugaya Toushirou could not shatter fear.

Every single dreaded time the shinigami entered a battlefield, she couldn't help but _feel _a twist in her gut as she saw him at the head, unflinching and unmoving. She couldn't help but _notice_ the subordinates' expressions as they looked at his small figure in the very front. They did not believe in him enough. Their faces spoke of terror, of the impending feeling of doom. Their faces screamed that they didn't want to die; they didn't want it all to end here, in a terrible burst of brilliant, hot red and shrieks of pain.

Still, Matsumoto Rangiku found that Hitsugaya Toushirou brought hope. He brought the truth along the cutting feeling of his reiatsu that just seemed to pierce hearts. Those eyes, too, they pierced through her very fiber, her very soul, her very being. Her Captain brought bravery and strength as well, his façade of impassiveness on a battlefield making the troops strive for a might equivalent to his.

Plus, though it pained her to consider it, with white hair and oceanic optics, he was set apart from others. For being a prodigy, he was set apart from others.

Belatedly, she realized that with all these expectations held of a dragon, a dragon had to become a solitary being. A lonely being. A being set to walk a path alone, cleaving a way for others with his own power, striving only to protect all those other than himself.

(_A dragon was a hero, but when the hero saves everyone, there will be no one left to steal the hero out of the darkness that will soon follow the light._)

Matsumoto Rangiku found herself thinking fiercely that she could not, would not, let him stay alone. She could not, would not, let him be the hero this time around. He had played the terrible role for far too long in his life-span that was so insignificant even compared to Yachiru's, who had been there with Zaraki even before he became one with the Gotei 13. Let someone else shoulder the burden, she wanted to scream at him, but as a fukutaicho who appeared to have an attention span no longer than a goldfish's, she could not. It was all a matter of public impressions, and Matsumoto Rangiku was torn apart to say that she was not selfless enough to throw these aside either.

So she decided to subtly worm her way under the burdens, just to ensure that she could hold them with him. To her surprise, he didn't object, but then it could always be that he didn't notice the lightening of the weight, so used to them pressing down at him anyway.

And then, she knew, after this series of terror was over, after all that was happening, maybe, just maybe, the chains surrounding her little taicho would be broken. She hoped that the bindings would be shattered in one glorious, swift moment of silvers and ice-blues and golds, just like the sunrise.

Then, Hitsugaya Toushirou could fly, and she would be the first to see and watch him soar high, watch him scrape along the sky's peak and burst through all barriers. She would be the first to see him defy all laws. She would be the first to see him shatter fear, bring so much courage that the world would glow, to see the truth and what was ahead. She would be the first to feel the clarity of his presence, that heart-wrenching sensation of just knowing, even if it is just for a split second.

Hitsugaya Toushirou would be _free_, a part of the world that he longed to join, the wistful glances he cast out the window at the sunset not escaping her keen feline gaze.

(_But, even wishing so, she hated herself for wanting to hold him down, because as soon as he flew free, he would be gone, never to return._)

And she would be left standing on this confusing path, uncertain, unknowing, fearful of the future, no guidepost casting a way for her.

Nevertheless, Matsumoto Rangiku would willingly pay the price, if only to see his fragile, beautiful wings unfurl and open to that sky.


End file.
